


Feel My Feet Above The Ground

by okaywhateverokayyes



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: During 2.18, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, M/M, Malec, Minor season 2b spoilers, Relationship Problems, post 2.18, shadowhunters (Freeform)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 20:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaywhateverokayyes/pseuds/okaywhateverokayyes
Summary: Standing there, averting his eyes so he doesn’t have to remind himself that no, the walls weren’t closing on him, and the ground wasn’t swallowing him whole, that the frisk invisible fingers he felt against his throat were not, in fact, strangling him.(Alec watches as Magnus retreats towards the elevator; his innate feelings come to light): POST 2.18





	Feel My Feet Above The Ground

“ _Darkness fell, not the dark of a moonless or cloudy night, but as if the lamp had been put out in a dark room.” *_

 

He had been punched in the gut before. Years ago, back when he had pursued demon incursions out of undisciplined anticipation,  a sighting wasn’t a prerogative more than it was a responsibility- _his_ responsibility-to fulfill. His skin crawled until the ashes of residue grazed the soles of his boots and marred the sky, a musty scatter encompassing his surroundings.

That time, the adversary was what, they termed as, _inhabited_ , embodying human-like qualities and yet void of any fallible qualities. The only distinguishing trait was the jet charcoal eyes and if anyone looked, the charred plasma that they spewed haphazardly and usually, out of plain sight-but Alec was too aware to not notice.

The clenched fist was aimed in his direction. It was in his line of sight so Alec was quick to swerve on his heel, the fist barely grazing his waist as it slipped past him. Although, he stumbles back reflexively, kicking his feet off of the ground as a loud thud, from the packaging bag, softened his fall.

Alec stretched his hands out, pressing his flattened palms against the floor, the grains of gravel slicing through his flesh, quietly but in masses. Alec pressed his hands together, tottering backwards as he realized a little too late that his only leverage keeping him upright, were his arms. He was greeted with the rugged cement, covered with gritty sand and perforated with air bubbles that had not yet bursted.

The next swing, he doesn’t notice it coming, doesn’t even prepare for it but has to lurch forward as the fist rendered him breathless. At first, the struggle stemmed from the fact that he hadn’t properly take an exhale, so his breath became labored as he grinded down on his teeth.

It does nothing but swallow him whole, his lungs ablaze, his throat constricted, the cement underneath appearing as a meer illusion rather than something concrete to center him. His arms start to flail, reaching out for anything to grip but everything seems _too far away_. He’s wrestling with the sudden urge to cower but maintains decorum as he mounts up.

But _this_ , this doesn’t feel like _that_.

Not even remotely comparable.

It was as if he was comparing apples to oranges, just out of sheer need to comport what he had innately felt without having to realize that it was, in fact, reservedly foreign, and staggeringly isolating.

Alec had read about Pompeii in a dissertation on _Fallen Empires: Legions of forfeiture_. It was his curiosity getting the better of him than it was the insipid content.  He decided to scavenge the internet, mindlessly and not expecting to glean anything other than the usual anecdotal narrative interspersed with fictional commentary that barely slipped his rationale.

And then, as if he had innately hoped to search for something unexpected and quite not expecting it, has to stop promptly, stymieing a surprised gasp as he hovered the cursor over the subtext: _cataclysmic eruption pillowing the inhabitants of Pompeii._

Mount Vesuvius.

A.D 79.

Several feet of ash and rock.

Frozen in time.

His eyes wavered briskly over the pictures scattered all over the page, noticing the excavations of people and _things_ , frozen as mentioned but unparalleled to anything he had ever seen. They were preserved like the Pygmy Locust-something of a grasshopper, he had read in a volume on a special volume about _species richness_ \- fossilized in remains of resin, _amber_. Not as transparent, but a framework so distinguishable and reminiscent of people, it felt surreal.

They were discernible body casts.

The eruption released clouds of superheated gas and ash, the surges suffocating the inhabitants swiftly but not too quick enough.

So they endured unbearable pain, marred by the constant smoke hurrying to enter any open crevice-nostrils, mouth, eyes-exposing them to a blistering inferno, unavoidable and smothering.

Maybe that was more analogous to how he had felt. Standing there, averting his eyes so he doesn’t have to remind himself that _no_ , the walls weren’t closing on him, and the ground wasn’t swallowing him whole, that the frisk invisible fingers he felt against his throat were not, in fact, strangling him.

He couldn’t, not when oblivion was a darkness too blinding, _too infinite_ that his mind struggled to wonder how he could get out of it.

 _Maybe he should_ , Alec considered, as he felt the emotional stresses and anxieties began to ebb, the presence of his body taking precedence over their influence. He begrudgingly held contact, watched as the elevator doors closed in on Magnus, a sight disappearing so swiftly, Alec struggled to stifle the obtrusive clog in his throat.

His eyes burned, vision marred, nostrils ablaze. Alec jabbed his clenched fist into his thigh, kneading the knuckles until his skin lit aflame. He dug the soles of his boots into the floor, biting down on his tongue until blood curdled in his mouth. He grinded down his teeth until his jaw ached, nerves shooting out in succession, numbness eventually anesthetizing any thinly veiled laceration.

A croaked whimper escaped his lips. Alec was quick to clamp down on his teeth, his gums tightly locking.

 _No_ , it wasn’t just asphyxiation or an unexpected fist to his chest.

It was both, maybe more. Maybe, way much more.

And as the sound of the conveyor decelerating down ricocheted off of his eardrums, he doesn’t put up a fight as the oblivion swallows him whole.

 


End file.
